


Raise It Up

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fat Shaming, First Kiss, First Time, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes you a moment to catch up. But then you do, and oh fuck your face burns, because there’s only one time you’ve really sat down and had a conversation with Cronus, and that ended with you bawling your eyes out and his hand down your pants. You almost run for it right then, but, but see, that wasn’t technically his fault at all, it was your fault for being a complete jackass without the smallest shred of self-awareness. He was so patient, he listened to you whine and gave you advice and he actually wanted you there. Cronus is smiling at you, okay, and how long has it been since someone smiled because they were glad to see you? He reminds you so much of Eridan and he’s still smiling at you, and you’re so lonely you’re going to fucking die. So you swallow hard, force your mouth to turn up at the corners, and break the awkward silence with, “Hey.”</p><p>He notices the pause (of course he does, what did you expect?) and says, “What, chief? I don’t bite.” He grins and winks. “Unless you want me to, a’ course.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise It Up

**Author's Note:**

> This story needs a little context. A few months back, the wonderful [Punpunichu](punpunichu.tumblr.com) drew a [Cronus/Karkat comic](http://punispompouspornpalace.tumblr.com/post/117446039889/would-you-ever-draw-crokat-maybe-even-witth) (warning for noncon and emotional abuse, mind the tags) that really got my attention. It was such an interesting, unhealthy dynamic, especially because Cronus has some legitimate points about Karkat's behavior and the way he interacts with other people, but he delivers them in such a manipulative, subtly aggressive way, and he uses Karkat making himself a little vulnerable in the conversation as an opportunity to bust right through his defenses. It's a REALLY great character piece.
> 
> And then about two months after that, they posted a companion [Crokat picture](http://punispompouspornpalace.tumblr.com/post/122111591024/have-you-ever-considered-continuing-your-crokat) (again, same warnings plus a warning for body shaming). And that was just. WOW. I enjoy writing dead dove content, I really like figuring out the most toxic ways for characters to behave, and body shaming had never occurred to me. I just had to write this. It took me a few months, but here we are! I hope you like it!

                The second time you meet Cronus Ampora, you aren’t expecting it. Or. You’ve met a few versions of him here and there, because you can’t help it, but you’ve only met the alpha Cronus the one time, and that was perigees ago. You thought you were never going to see him again. It’s in the dream bubbles, okay? You try to have as little as possible to do with those. With anything. You like to think you’ve gotten pretty good at sleeping through almost anything, but fuck if you can manage it right now. You have one of those sleeping-too-much pan-aches, which would be fantastic to sleep off if. You know. You hadn’t already slept too much.

                Your husktop is dead and you don’t have the energy to go find the power grub. You try lying in your pile with your eyes shut for a while, hoping that maybe you can trick your body into just fucking passing out already, and when that doesn’t work you just stare at the ceiling. Eventually, the novelty wears off there too, and you drag yourself out of the pile to see if maybe there’s some food you can grab from the food preparation block.

                In fact, you step out of your respiteblock door onto a well-manicured lawnring. Perfect. Just perfect. Exactly what you needed. Paradox space read your mind and decided to give you the precise opposite of what you wanted, and why does that even surprise you anymore. You almost consider just turning around and going back to your pile, but if you have to spend any more time in there alone with yourself just staring at the walls you are going to scream, and momentum is a thing that is happening, and as it turns out, it’s easiest just to keep walking.

                You don’t recognize the hive. You recognize fuck-all basically, there aren’t any moons in the sky, so you don’t even know if this is Alternia or Beforus. Fucking fantastic. You haven’t had any control over your life up to this point, why would you want to start now? The hive door isn’t locked, and this is rude, but what the hell, whoever owns this hive is dead, you might as well be dead, and you’ve pretty much never existed in a state that didn’t involve being rude and abrasive and having no fucking clue how to shut your godawful personality off.

                Of all the things, you hear music when you open the hive door. Well. Probably Beforus then, you doubt any of your friends would be stupid enough to be messing around with a music instrument when strangers are breaking into their hive. Maybe it’s even Kanaya’s dancestor, she’s good at putting up with your bullshit, and if you’re lucky, maybe you’ve even gotten here _before_ Kanaya, and you can spend time with her without feeling like you’re taking that time away from someone who actually deserves it.

                It’s Cronus. He’s on an elongated seating platform playing some kind of instrument you don’t recognize. And you recognize him, because of _course_ you do, these dream bubbles are full of hundreds of different versions of your dead friends and their weird alternate universe counterparts, you know Cronus Ampora when you see him. What’s different is that Cronus recognizes you _._ And not just as one Karkat out of some stupidly huge number that have died and come to this shitty excuse for an afterlife, but he recognizes _you_. When you come barging into his recreationblock and your eyes meet, his expression is blank for a moment, but then his face lights up, he puts aside his weird stringed instrument, and says, “Hey, Karkat! Been a while since I got to see you.”

                It takes you a moment to catch up. But then you do, and oh _fuck_ your face burns, because there’s only one time you’ve really sat down and had a conversation with Cronus, and that ended with you bawling your eyes out and his hand down your pants. You almost run for it right then, but, but see, that wasn’t technically his fault at all, it was your fault for being a complete _jackass_ without the smallest shred of self-awareness, and it’s been perigees since you even had a half-decent conversation with anyone and last time he sat and talked with you. He was so patient, he listened to you whine and gave you advice and he actually _wanted_ you there. Cronus is smiling at you, okay, and how long has it been since someone smiled because they were _glad to see you_? He reminds you so much of Eridan and he’s still smiling at you, and you’re so lonely you’re going to fucking _die_. So you swallow hard, force your mouth to turn up at the corners, and manage, “Hey.”

                Wow, you’re such a great conversationalist, it’s unbelievable what a way you have with words. But it seems to work well enough, because he starts chattering away about haven’t seen you in for-fucking-ever, blah blah blah, and he scoots to one side of his seating platform and pats the cushions next to him. You hesitate. Because last time you were on a seating platform with him—It. It’s not like he did anything _wrong_ , you didn’t tell him no, but you don’t—

                He notices the pause, and says, “What, chief? I don’t bite.” He grins and winks. “Unless you want me to, a’ course.”

                Well shit. If you keep this up any longer, you’re going to look like an asshole. More of an asshole. You perch gingerly just on the edge of a cushion at the far corner of the seating platform and try to force yourself to relax. If he wants to try anything, you can say no. You just. Didn’t last time. He didn’t do anything you told him not to. Maybe he notices you quietly starting to psych yourself out, because he resettles the instrument in his lap and starts picking at it again.

                You’re waiting for him to say something. You don’t. Know what you have to contribute, _fuck_. You sneak a sideways peek at Cronus, but he’s not even looking at you. Of course he’s not, you ass, you just broke into his hive and stormed in here without so much as a ‘good evening,’ you’re intruding and he’s being more polite than you deserve, this is exactly the kind of shit he called you out on the last time—You aren’t _thinking_ about last time, that’s what you’re doing. Not doing.

                And you’re also not remembering how to talk like a real troll. Have you even had a conversation in the last few weeks with a real live person? There was that time you actually found Gamzee for a change and persuaded him to come back to your pile with you, but then you just awkwardly asked him how he was doing and he pretty much ignored you, and you ended the evening feeling more alone than when you’d started, and ha _ha,_ not thinking about that either, _fuck_ —

                You should just. Go. Nobody invited you here, you sure as shit aren’t contributing anything of value, you should leave now and spare your dignity before he gets sick of humoring you and just tells you to get the hell out. He’s just picking at the instrument you don’t recognize and it’s like you might as well not be here. You clear your throat, and force out, “What is that?”

                He looks up, almost like he’s startled to see you still there, _fuck_ , but when you nod jerkily at the instrument, he beams. “Human instrument, ‘s called a guitar. Great way to experience traditional human music.” Then he pauses, looks over, and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Traditional human seduction tool too, lemme know if it starts working.”

                You laugh once, despite yourself, and barely manage to turn it into something like a snort. You’re almost sure, for a moment, that seduction is all he’s trying to do, he’ll mess with the instrument for a moment, move on to you, easy as anything, one-two-three. But he keeps picking away at notes, and you’re just watching his fingers, and the quiet between you stretches out uncomfortably long, until you feel like you have to say something to fill the silence. “How does it work?”

                He looks up, surprised. “What?”

                You do your best not to shift uneasily. “How does it work? The, uh. Guitar.” Fuck, you’re imposing, he doesn’t want you here. You should. Go. But you don’t want to spend another night alone and miserable in your respiteblock, you just can’t, how many nights can you handle that before you go crazy, how much longer can you deal with that before it finally kills you?

                But thank god, Cronus doesn’t notice you quietly freaking out, he’s all friendly smiles and reassurances. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll show you, easy as anything. Come on over here—” He tugs you over against his side, and you’re all tense again, for just a moment, waiting for him to try something—But it passes, he’s just settling the, the guitar into your lap, moving your hands to hold it right, and you feel a rush of guilt that you keep assuming all the worst things, seriously, what’s wrong with you.

                He’s trying to get your hands all settled on the guitar but, you, you’re not quite following. You can keep your hand on the long bit, okay, but then when you try to actually do something down by the bottom of the strings, your grip gets all turned around and you still don’t know what you’re even supposed to be _doing_ — Cronus is trying to explain, but he’s also chuckling at the way you’re struggling, which. Yeah, sure, watching you flail around like a useless sack of shit is probably funny from the outside, you’re just starting to get a stress headache from the frustration.

                You’re just about ready to give up and go on back to your respiteblock because there’s only so much self-induced humiliation you can handle in one night, when Cronus finally sighs and says, “Angle’s wrong, chief. Could get your fronds settled right if you sat on my lap, maybe?”

                He takes the guitar back, and without thinking, you start to get up to move, and then your pan finally catches up, and you freeze. See, okay, it’s, it’s not like last time with you on your back and covering your eyes and his hands slipping up under your shirt—Point is, it’s not like that. It isn’t. You think. But this is still a setup straight out of a shitty porn movie.

                Cronus sees you hesitating, because of course he does, he isn’t an idiot. You’re the idiot, because you just sit there frozen like an antlerbeast in the headlights until finally he raises his eyebrows and says, “Oh, what, is this because of, y’know.” He winks. “Last time?”

                You try to swallow, but your squawkbox feels like a solid lump and you can’t manage words no matter how hard you try, but you nod.

                Cronus sighs and lets his head fall back. “Gonna give it to you straight, chief, that was a real unkind thing you did to me.”

                You’re frozen for a second. Because… “What?”

                His eyes are shut, but he cracks them open just far enough to look at you through his lashes. “Well. You weren’t really that into it, right?”

                All you can do is shake your head. It’s. Almost liberating to tell him.

                “An’ see though, you just let me go right ahead and do my thing.” He plucks absently at the guitar. “Let me think you were diggin’ me and let me go ahead and open myself up and get vulnerable with you. Kind of a shitty thing to do, yeah? Left me feelin’ pretty used.”

                “ _Oh._ ” It’s not any kind of a real answer. But it’s all you can say. Your head is spinning. You—hadn’t _realized_ , fuck, this is more of you being a self-centered sack of bulges, you’ve been spending all your energy feeling bad for yourself, when you— You can’t quite look at his face, but after a few tries you manage, “Sorry.”

                When you force yourself to raise your head, it’s such an unexpected rush of relief to find him smiling at you. “No hard feelings,” he says. “I can deal. Everybody makes mistakes, right?”

                You nod. You hadn’t. Realized. And you glance down at his lap.

                He smiles wider and spreads his arms. “So whaddaya say? No worries, chief, I’m not gonna let you hurt me like that again.”

                Okay. Right. Okay. There’s nothing to worry about, there isn’t anything wrong, you and him are on the same page, you asked him to show you his weird alien instrument and that’s what he’s doing. By some miracle you haven’t fucked up badly enough for him to cut this off and he’s _talking_ to you and it seems like he wants you around, and. You can do this.

                When you settle into his lap, you hear him grunt, “ _Oof_ ,” and you’re suddenly pathetically glad you’re facing away from him so he can’t see the way your cheeks burn. Because. Okay. When you’re stuck in a lab with no way to spend your nights except thinking about how badly you’ve ruined everything with everyone you might have ever been able to call a friend, what is there to do but eat? It’s sad when the highlight of your night is dragging your carcass to the alchemiter to try making something edible, but whatever, fuck it, that’s what your life is. Okay??

                It’s—you aren’t a stupid little wriggler anymore, you aren’t doing crueltube workouts out of some misguided delusion that you might magically dodge culling and become a threshecutioner, you aren’t working your way through hordes of monsters trying to win the worst game in the history of any universe, you’re just a sad sack of shit burying himself in a pile all alone in his respiteblock trying to eat and sleep his way through the rest of his miserable life.

                Point is, you weigh a bit more. Than you used to. Fuck. You thought you were fine with it, these things _happen_ , okay, if eating is the one thing you can just _enjoy_ these days, no strings attached, you shouldn’t have to feel bad about it. You. Do feel bad. Especially now. You shouldn’t have to, but you do.

                And now, haha, things are just getting worse, fucking _fantastic_ , because you’re frozen like a useless asshole who is useless and you have no idea how to react to that. Maybe just pretending nothing happened? Ha, ugh, that ships sailed a few long, awkward moments ago. Apologize? Move? Fuck, you have to do _something_. Finally, you manage to force out, “Sorry, I—Sorry.”

                You try to shift off his lap, sit on the seating platform or run back to your respiteblock, _something_ , but his hands are on your sides, holding you in place, and when he chuckles you can feel his breath against your ear. “Naw, it’s nothin’, don’t you even worry about it.” You don’t like the way his fingers bite into your sides, you don’t like how _soft_ you’ve gotten, but. But you got spoiled, having Terezi around for stupid little play fights, those couple of giddy perigees when you and Gamzee _worked_ and it’s just been so fucking long since anyone was around to _touch_ you.

                Cronus’s hands shift around to your stomach, and he tugs you back against his thorax. It’s hard not to jump when he breaks the silence again. “Not so bad. I’m a seadweller, y’know, might not have STRENGTH, but I’m strong enough to deal.” He laughs again. “‘sides, you mighta let yourself go, but that just means there’s more to hold, am I right?”

                Your cheeks are still flaming. It’s. Good. You guess. That he’s finding something positive in this. You’d rather not think about it, you seriously just want to pretend that nothing fucking happened, business is usual, can everyone just _drop_ _it_ already? But it is good. Like this. You manage a laugh too, it’s only a hair late, see, you’re totally managing to function like a real person.

                And ugh, this isn’t great either. Fuck. You’re already too aware of the places you make contact with him, _and_ you can’t stop thinking about how much you weigh compared to the last time you saw him, and wow good job, you’re a complete festering asshole focusing on that all after he’s just finished telling you about how he felt used after last time, _and_ that it’s fine that you aren’t as thin as you used to be.

                But that’s not the end of it. Oh no. Because not only are you fat. You’re also as short as shit, and Cronus _isn’t_ and with you sitting back against his thorax like this, your knees don’t go all the way out to his knees, so your legs end up just sticking straight out, _fuck_ , how are you supposed to—Turns out the only marginally comfortable way to place your legs is to let them fall on either side of Cronus’s thighs. It’s not—It’s not actually that uncomfortable, it’s just. You feel seriously fucking _exposed_ with your legs spread wide like this, okay? And it’s such a douche move for you to keep circling back around to that, it’s like your pan is in a contest with itself to see if it can set a new world record for sustained assholery, good job, let’s see how much of an obnoxious, insensitive asshole you can make yourself.

                Thank god, that’s when Cronus swings the guitar up into your lap again, and at least then you have something to focus on besides his legs between yours. With him settling it in place, the guitar pushes up tight against your stomach, which. Not ideal. You were trying to _stop_ thinking about that. _Fuck_. You try to just focus on your hands when he moves them into place on the guitar.

                The angle… is better. When he tries to show you what to do with the frets or frots or whatever the fuck he calls them, now you can actually tell what he’s trying to say. You aren’t any good at it, of course. You’re pretty shit. It doesn’t help that the claws on your left hand are way too long to work the strings right, which means that even when Cronus helps you note-by-note through picking out a wriggler rhyme, you still get practically everything wrong.

                It’s fine though. It honestly is. You’ve got something to focus on that isn’t every single thing wrong with your pathetic excuse for a life, there’s someone here and helping you out and fuck, it helps _so much_ just to be spending time with another actual person. Even though he spends ninety percent of his time correcting things you’re doing wrong, he isn’t getting angry or frustrated at all. And after a few minutes, it doesn’t even feel weird to be sitting on him like this. You’re comfortable, he seems like he’s comfortable, you didn’t even realize how goddamn starved you were for contact until now and you’re going to do everything you can not to fuck this up for yourself.

                After a little while, you’ve gotten good enough to mess up on your own instead of messing up with help, and he just kind of leans his chin on your shoulder and watches you. He tried to show you this ‘chord’ thing (it didn’t work), so you’re just picking out notes here and there, sometimes trying to figure out a melody, sometimes just doing whatever. It’s relaxing. It’s… nice. It actually feels nice. This is probably the best time you’ve had in perigees. Cronus has his hands on your hips again, but it’s nice and casual, and hey, look at where you put your legs, you aren’t going to judge him when there’s only so many places to stick your fronds. You wish you could have nights like this more often.

                Cronus is the first one to speak up. “So—” You practically startle out of his lap, and he chuckles and pulls you back in by the waist and says, “Easy, chief, easy, didn’t mean any harm.”

                You have to laugh a little too, because how high-strung can a person even get. “Sorry, I didn’t—Sorry. What was that?”

                You can feel his cheek move when he smiles. “Nothing much, just wantin’ to ask what’s up in your neck of the woods.”

                It’s. You do your best not to tense up, he’ll feel it, he’s sitting right there, so you do your best to stay casual as you reply, “Not much.”

                He’s quiet for a moment. “Seemed like it was goin’ kinda rough last time. Any better lately?”

                You shrug with one shoulder, jerky and uneasy. _Fuck_.

                “Or run into any old friends out here? ‘bout a million and one versions of everyone floatin’ around in the dream bubbles.”

                You rub at your forehead with a knuckle. “I… guess. I don’t know.” You don’t want to see how you fucked up their sessions so badly they ended up dead, you don’t want to find out how much of an asshole their Karkat was, whatever you’re imagining might be bad, but _fuck_ , you can’t shake the feeling that whatever you actually did to them is going to be so much worse. It’s easier to just. Avoid them. It’s hard enough to force yourself out to even try mingling with your dancestors, and you aren’t even responsible for whatever the hell killed each batch of them. When it comes to your friends, you just. _Can’t._

                “Hey,” says Cronus. “Hey now. Can’t be as bad as all that, can it?” He starts to shift, and hesitates. “Now, uh. I was thinkin’ that you were lookin’ like a guy who could use a hug, but I know that went a little off the last time, like we talked about. How about it? You want that?”

                “Oh, uh.” You shut your eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, and try to pull your shit together. “Yeah. Sure, why the hell not.”

                He’s practically hugging you already. You feel like kind of an idiot granting him permission like, like this is some big huge issue, but you guess after last time you. Aren’t really in a position to call the shots. His arms don’t have to go much further to really get around you and he’s already got his head resting on your shoulder and he’s so much larger than you that in the end you feel almost like you’re wrapped up in a big, cool seadweller blanket. It’s… nice. Being held. You can’t remember the last time someone held you. Probably Gamzee, back in those first few perigees when it was still—Back then.

                You pick idly at the guitar. This is. Good. It’s not like last time, which, _fuck_ you feel like such a self-centered bag of dicks constantly bringing things back to that, but it _isn’t_ like it was then. That’s your. Point. You’re not being fixated on what happened before, you’re an adult (barely, only a few weeks, but you still need to _act_ like it), you can move on, what you care about is how nice things are _now._

                You have the time for a few long, slow breaths before Cronus loosens his arms again. It’s totally enough time to back to pretending to be an actual functional person, haha. Cronus’s hands stay in your lap and his chin stays on your shoulder. He taps a rhythm against the side of the guitar while you pick aimlessly at the strings. He clears his throat. “So like. Sure you’ve gotta be seein’ _someone_ around the place. What about all those other little Amporas runnin’ around all over the place? Bet they’d be glad to see you, half a’ them, you try to have a friendly conversation an’ next thing you know they’re talkin’ about their old best friend, Kar.”

                Ah. You. Have a hard time breathing round the sudden lump in your throat, and you really hope Cronus can’t see the way you have to blink hard until your eyes stop burning. “Ha. Yeah, Eridan.”

                “That’s the one!” Cronus laughs. “Lemme tell you, only takes a few of those conversations, hearin’ about ‘Kar this’ an’ ‘Kar that,’ before you start gettin’ real jealous that hey, this guy has all these awesome stories an’ here I am hardly gettin’ a chance to hang out with the guy.”

                You laugh, and maybe kind of sort of manage to cover it up with a snort. “From Eridan? No, you must have the wrong guy, I’m pretty sure Eridan was hatched without the ability to be positive about anything ever.”

                “No, chief, no! Swear to god, kid does nothing but give me mad fits of jealousy that I never got to know you like he did. You two were close for sweeps, yeah?”

                “Yeah.” Ha, you’re smiling like an idiot, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “Since like a perigee after he pupated. Feferi tried to cull his lusus to feed her mom, but his dad can—could fly and she was too little to do anything about it, and the two of them got into a big fight, but little kids are shit at killing and neither of them got anywhere with it. He promised to help her hunt for her mom, and that was that. I didn’t have a solitary fucking clue what was happening, first thing I know is Equius trolling me all outraged as shit telling me that I won’t _believe_ what kind of degenerate violetblood the heiress is associating with. I couldn’t resist sticking my sniffnub into things, and there we were.”

                Cronus sighs. “Must be great to have friends like that. Never really had anyone who’d stop to give me the time a’ night.” He nudges your shoulder with his chin. “Surprised the two a’ you never ended up in a quadrant, close as you must’ve been. Unless he just never mentioned it…?”

                “No. I mean. Not really, but—“ You frown. “We did have a… pact. Kind of.”

                “What about?”

                “ _Private_ _things_ ,” you snap.

                Cronus pulls back, says, “Easy, easy, no harm meant!”

                You’re already feeling a little bad for snapping like that. This is exactly the kind of bullshit that drove away all your other friends, maybe you could pretend to be a functioning member of society for five minutes before rage-shitting your pants over nothing? Cronus is tentatively leaning back in, and you take a deep breath and (casually, _casually—_ ) rest a hand on his arm. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the muscles in his jaw shift against your shoulder, and you almost believe he might be smiling. You rest back just a hair more against his thorax.

                You clear your throat. “But it. Never went anywhere. So it doesn’t matter.”

                “Not even during the game?”

                “No?? I don’t know what your session was like, but I was a little busy focusing on _the game_.”

                He shrugs. “S’fine. Just seemed like it was when he coulda used some support most, that’s all.”

                It hits you like a punch in the gut. You can’t—You didn’t— What if it _had_ gone differently, what if you’d been there for him, and he’d never—There was still everything with Vriska and Gamzee, but how many more of your friends would still be _alive_ if you’d just been able to pull your head out of your waste chute and think of somebody else for a change?

                “Chief, _chief—_ “ Cronus is squeezing your leg. You’re spacing out. You can’t _focus_. “Hey, Karkat. Whoa there. Just a thought, that’s all. Just wonderin’. Hey, who knows what woulda gone down, every version of Eridan I’ve seen seems to miss you somethin’ fierce, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

                Ha. That. Makes you even feel kind of worse. Awesome. You didn’t just fuck up your timeline, looks like you pretty consistently left him feeling miserable and alone. Great. But you manage to force a shaky smile.

                “Hey now, that’s what I like to see,” he says. “Wasn’t meaning to upset you or anythin’, honest. I can tell when a guy needs a change of topic. So, uh. How’s life on the meteor treatin’ you? Any better than last time?”

                Ahahaha, fuck. Fuck. There are no good topics anymore, but that’s probably your fault for consistently being just an embarrassing failure. You shrug. “I guess.”

                “Aw, that doesn’t sound all that great.” His arms tighten just a hair around you, and you guiltily savor the physical reassurance. “What about that gangly moirail a’ yours? Still haven’t met a version a’ him out here. How’re things with him?”

                You shrug again. “Things with him. Aren’t. Anymore.” Fuck fuck fuck, you’re as transparent as shit, you can’t even hold a simple conversation without turning into a whiny wriggler, why are you even _here_. Why does he want you here. Why do you exist at all, _Fuck_.

                “Aw, chief.” He unwraps his arms from around you, and you barely choke back a protest, but all he’s doing is taking the guitar off your lap to set it on the floor. You’re watching him, just confused and wishing his arms were back around you, and he winks and says, “It was getting in the way.” He pulls you back against him, and you shut your eyes, try _not_ to open your flap about how grateful you are, and relax.

                There’s quiet for a few moments before Cronus adds, “Seriously, that’s rough. I mean, you were workin’ on the stuff we talked about last time, yeah?”

                You nod. You don’t quite trust your throat. You tried, you tried _so fucking hard_ , you were trying to grow up and be someone he could rely on, you wanted to help him, not just whine to him about how hard _your_ life was. You went and tracked him down in the furthest corners of the lab, you brought him food, you combed his hair out, you gave him advice as well as you could, you just. You wanted to be there for him. And it wasn’t. Enough. No matter how hard you tried, it wasn’t enough. He got harder and harder to find, he wouldn’t talk to you, he wouldn’t answer you when you were right there and asking him questions. And after almost a perigee where you couldn’t find him even once, didn’t get a reply on trollian, nothing—You had to admit that he just didn’t want you anymore.

                Cronus sighs. “Well. Effort’s effort, y’know, but it might not be enough.”

                You blink hard. “What else can I do?”

                He pauses. “Maybe nothing.”

                All the air goes out of you. “…oh.”

                “See, even if you’ve pulled your act together now, doesn’t change the fact that you were treatin’ people the way you were before.” He shrugs. “You’re the one who did wrong by ‘em, just because you’re sorry _now_ , that doesn’t undo everything that happened before. Gotta remember, they don’t have any obligation to ever forgive you.”

                Your eyes are stinging. You’re so focused on trying to just _breathe_ that when a tear rolls down your cheek and off your chin, you can’t do anything to stop it. Thank god, Cronus doesn’t call any attention to it. You don’t know if he honestly missed it or if he’s just giving you a chance to salvage the last scraps of your dignity, but you’ll take it.

                Cronus is talking, but it’s so hard to hear him past the blood pounding in your ears. You still can barely breathe, but you dig your claws into your legs and do your best to listen. “…chief? You still with me?”

                “Yeah,” you force out. “I just. Yeah.”

                He sighs. “Sucks to hear, I know. Just figured you’d want someone givin’ it to you straight. No wishy-washy bullshit.”

                You manage a slow, deep breath. “Yeah, I. Fuck. I appreciate it. I really do. Fuck. Sorry.” His arms tighten around you, just a hair, but you—Shit ,you don’t even mind, this is the opposite of minding, you wish he was holding you for real, not that you’d just accidentally ended up in his personal space and he’s being chill about it like an _actual_ adult, not throwing a shitfit about it the way you tried to do.

                This just. _God_. It’s one thing thinking to yourself that you’ve been such an impossible asshole that you drove away everyone who ever cared about you, it’s another thing being told that they’re under no obligation to ever take you back again. He’s not wrong, fuck, he’s completely _right_ , you just—You didn’t want to hear it out loud, you didn’t want it to be real.

                “Hey. Hey, Karkat.” He nudges you. “You doing okay there? C’mon now, just because that might happen doesn’t mean it _will_. Gotta be a chance it’ll work out somehow, right? What about your version a’ Pyrope, she seemed to like you okay.”

                “Yeah—Terezi, she. I don’t know. We used to talk all the time, but. She hasn’t sent me a message in more than a perigee, and she’s spending all her time with Dave or sneaking off to spend it with Gamzee, and Gamzee—“ Nope nope nope, change of topic— “If she’s around, she’s with Dave. She and I haven’t really had a conversation for, god, I don’t even know how long.”

                This is a hug, it’s definitely a hug, and you just shut your eyes and lean into Cronus. He sighs. “Damn. ‘S rough, for sure. But lemme tell you, those Pyropes, I think there’s gotta be something that makes ‘em way more vindictive than is justified. So Latula, right? Pretty as shit, charming, incredible body, basically perfect. Except no, because maybe a guy fucks up a little here or there, nothing big, but then she decides to be a complete _bitch_ and refuses to give him a second chance at her quadrants.”

                The asshole part of you almost snipes that ~it’s almost like people aren’t obligated to forgive you,~ but fuck, your pan needs to _shut the fuck up_ , because whatever he’s talking about doing can’t be half as bad as the manipulative, self-centered bullshit you’ve put your friends through. He’s giving you plenty of helpful advice, and you turn right around and act like a wriggler about it, wow. Instead, you say, “That sounds like it sucked.”

                “You’re tellin’ me! An’ she’s even holding things against me that had nothin’ to do with her in the first place. She hears a rumor about ooh, he says she says you said whatever thing about my matesprit, an’ suddenly I’m the bad guy an’ she won’t even listen to my side of the story. I tell you, those Pyropes, they judge so fuckin’ fast an’ make like they never made a mistake in their whole life. You’re better off without her, let me tell you. Fuckin’ _toxic_ is what they are.”

                You clear your throat. _Reciprocal_ conversation, ha, right, that is a thing that people do, you’re supposed to talk about things that aren’t you, you self-centered asshole. “Um. What quadrant had you been hoping for? With her?”

                He shrugs. “Dunno, really.”

                “Yeah.” You nod. “That’s how it was. For me. With Terezi, I mean.”

                “Yeah,” he replies. “Really, s’tough. I was open to, y’know, whatever. Concupiscent _especially_ , but I’m not gonna say no if someone wants to hook up pale. Better than nothing, right? A’ course, she’s got that matesprit of hers, even though she’s way too good for him. But if you try to let her know that there are better options out there if she’d just open her mind to them, you’d better watch out, that’s all I’m saying.”

                “You mean Mituna…?”

                “That’s the guy.” His arms are almost uncomfortably tight now. “Don’t see how she can stand to be in the same room as him, he’s so pathetic and needy, plays up all his pan shit just to get attention, but what the fuck ever, guess it’s working for him.”

                That doesn’t really sound like the Mituna you met. The guy makes you think of Sollux with all the impulse control of Vriska, but you guess you’ve never really gotten to know him. Cronus must be much more familiar with him than you are, after so many sweeps in the afterlife together. You aren’t in a position to judge. But there’s an awkward silence now, and shit, shit, you’re probably supposed to say something but you have no clue what. You try, “I’m sorry.”

                Cronus sighs. “Nah, not your fault. I mean, just look at you. You’re bein’ a decent person an’ trying to fix the shit you did wrong. Listenin’ to advice when someone stops to give you a helping frond, all that. Not like Mituna, try to tell _him_ that he’s being manipulative, an’ he just plays fuckin’ clueless. He’s not foolin’ anybody with that act, lemme tell you.”

                His arms are so tight now it’s hard to breathe. When you try to shift to get a little space, you can’t budge his arms at all, shit. But he notices you struggling and loosens up with a little laugh.

                “Heh, sorry about that, chief. Hardly know my own strength sometimes.” He pauses. “This is… okay, yeah? Not like before?”

                You can’t help flinching when he brings up your old behavior. It’s not—He’s not doing anything wrong, you know that. You just. You fucked up last time and you have to deal with that now. You can feel him shift under him and he’s still waiting for an answer, shit— “Yeah, this is fine,” you manage. And then you pause, swallow hard. “You… want me here?”

                Too needy, _too needy, fuck_ , but Cronus leans his cheek against yours and you can feel him smile when he answers, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

                Oh. _Oh._ He moves, just a little, barely a change, but instead of his arms just being around you, his hands are definitely _on_ you, resting on your stomach, and some romantic little corner of your pan whispers that this isn’t a hug, this is an _embrace_. You try to ignore it, but you can’t help blushing anyways. His cheek nuzzles up against yours, the two of you are breathing together, and you think your pump biscuit might explode. You manage to make your hands move, you lift them off your legs and rest them on top of Cronus’s hands, and you can feel him sigh and hold you closer against him.

                Everything is quiet and perfect for a few long moments before Cronus moves. You’re afraid for a moment that he—You did something wrong, or it wasn’t good enough, something, you blew your one chance, _shit_ , but it’s fine, he just sits up a little and turns to look down at you, and if you twist around you can just manage to look up at him. He’s not meeting your eyes though, he’s looking at your lips, and you’re officially the most embarrassing person ever, because you feel your face flood with heat a-fucking-gain. You can’t even bring yourself to care, though. Your voice is barely louder when you manage, “Would you like to—?”

                He doesn’t answer, he just moves one hand to tilt your head up and bends down to you, and you’re _kissing_ , you’re being _kissed_. Just a few hours ago, you were positive you were going to die alone and unloved, and now you’re here with Cronus, he wants you here, and he’s _kissing you_.

                His free arm is still around you, with one of your hands resting on top of his, but after a moment he shifts so that his fingers twine around yours and he isn’t just holding you, he’s holding your hand, and when your breath catches in your throat he smiles against your mouth and holds you closer. Life—Life isn’t a romcom, you know that, you’re a grown-ass adult, _you know better_ , but a piece of you just wants to _melt_ , just melt right the fuck away, because this is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. Never mind just being kissed flush, you’ve never even been kissed at _all_ before tonight, and this—It’s more perfect than anything you’d dared to hope for, end of story.

                You could do this forever, you’re pretty sure. You _want_ to do this forever. Turns out that when you’re busy feeling someone against you, breathing with them, savoring the way their lips linger against yours, it’s real easy to ignore the parts of your pan trying to shout at you that you’re not wanted, that you’re imposing, that you should go. Ha fucking _ha_ , you are so wanted, when you’re like this you can feel just how wanted you are. Every breath he takes with you is a reassurance, all the reassurance that you’d never dare ask for out loud, but it’s _there_ , it’s fucking there and you’ll take it.

                It’s not… _exactly_ a surprise when he opens his mouth and lets his tongue run along your lips. It’s. You know. The next logical step. You’ve watched enough movies to know this is what happens next, okay? Your bloodpusher still skips a few beats. You have to shut your eyes and make a conscious effort to calm the fuck down. Maybe it’s not—It’s not a perfect romantic date with the tension building all morning and then a passionate kiss just before the dawn, sweet and intimate and vulnerable—It’s not that. Is the point.

                You aren’t getting closer and closer over weeks, you don’t have a few dates of getting to know each other before deciding to open yourself up like this, you aren’t being wooed ( _ugh_ you need to shut the fuck up already). You weren’t. Exactly expecting your first kiss to go this way. But it makes sense, Cronus isn’t doing anything wrong, you’re being a whiny sack of bulges for no reason whatsoever, just because the real world doesn’t conform to your romantic ideals doesn’t mean you get to throw a tantrum every time some little detail isn’t perfect.

                So you… give up. On that dream. It was just a stupid little fantasy, something straight out of your movies, which oh yes, _aren’t real_. This is real. Cronus is real and he’s right here and you shouldn’t ruin that whining over stupid fictional bullshit. You can do this. You open your mouth for him.

                When his tongue pushes into you, you still have to make a conscious effort to stop yourself from flipping your shit. What the fuck is wrong with you? It doesn’t feel bad or anything, and this is what people do, this is what you’re supposed to _do_. It takes a moment, but you nerve yourself up and let your tongue push back against Cronus’s, sliding against his and slipping into his mouth. You can feel the points of his teeth against your lips, and you can’t help shivering.

                Cronus makes a little noise against your mouth and lets his hand slide down from your neck. You wish it was still there, his claws right against your bared throat, it’s only, you know, the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, and you already want him back there, holding you. But it’s fine, because he moves that hand up and down your thorax, just letting his fingers trail all over you’re in a shitty romance novel and like he wants to map you out by touch. You’ll just sit over here and keep being quietly embarrassed by your wriggler fascination with romcoms, and Cronus is the one who finally clued you in to how you were sabotaging yourself like that, but he’s here and he’s giving you every stupid romantic fantasy you ever were dumb enough to cherish, and you’re so fucking grateful you can hardly stand it.

                Plus, the, uh. The way his fingers are moving up and down your body, and the slide of your shirt against your skin, it. Um. Makes you really goddamn conscious of the way your legs are still spread around his thighs, okay? You feel like a complete ass, but, hhhah, nobody’s ever touched you like this, you’ve had a hard time believing someone would ever even _want_ to touch you like this, and one of his hands is on your stomach, his other is on your thigh, and you can still hardly believe this is even happening.

                And his tongue in your mouth. That’s still a thing, and you know what, you might not have been sure about that before, but you are _more_ than fine with it now. You squirm a little in Cronus’s lap—god that sounds suggestive, but that’s not what you mean, you swear. You’re just trying to twist a little further because you want this never to end, you want to push closer against him, you just want to have something _nice_ for once in your fucking life.

                You do freeze a little when his hands start toying with the waistband of your pants. Because. Holy shit. Oh god, your pan has decided to check out of the proceedings, and you’re just completely lost because you were _already_ out of your depth and you don’t know what to _do_. Do nothing? Do nothing. Haha wow, you are totally functioning like a real adult, you’re definitely mature enough to handle this kind of thing, fuck, you definitely aren’t embarrassing yourself in front of someone you desperately want to impress. Ahaha. Ha. You don’t even know what to think about what’s happening right now, so you just. Let him do his thing.

                See though, okay, probably you should have taken a little initiative, because he’s trying to get his fingers under your waistband. You can feel him fighting it, and you even arch up a bit for him to help—But then you can feel the way his fingers are biting into your stomach and the way he _still_ can’t get them under your waistband, and shit shit fuck, this is the worst, shit. You should probably, you know. Break the kiss to unbutton your pants or something, this isn’t like the last time when all you were young and stupid and skinny and all your clothes were just a bit too big for you, and you need to do something to _fix this_ , but you’re so embarrassed you’re just frozen in place and Cronus fights your pants until he finally breaks the kiss with a little frustrated snarl.

                “Fuckin’ _hell_ , kid—“

                You shut your eyes and fumble for the button. You want to just fucking die. “Sorry, sorry, let me, I— Sorry.”

                His voice is calmer now, but it still doesn’t help. “Not to be rude or nothin’, but you ever thought about alchemizing a set of clothes that actually fit? Because god _damn_.”

                Your cheeks are burning. You still can’t open your eyes. You. _Did_ , that’s the thing. Just a few weeks ago. It was your present to yourself after you hit your adult molt, because it’s not like anyone else was around to notice. You worked so fucking _hard_ figuring out how to replicate your clothing large enough to wear in public while at least pretending it kind of fit like real clothing should. You were so stupidly proud that you managed without having to humiliate yourself by asking Rose for help.

                Well fan-fucking-tastic, because you’re humiliated now, so humiliated you can hardly breathe. Cronus is leaving little sucking kisses down the side of your neck while he runs his fingers down over your hips, but you can’t even enjoy it. All you can focus on is the way your stomach still spills over the waistband of your boxers, the way he has to reach _around_ you to get at your hips in the first place.

                You look down at yourself, and all you can see is your stupid, shitty rumblespheres (they used to be so small but now they’re larger than Terezi’s, almost as large as Kanaya’s, and it’s so _not-right_ you can hardly stand to look at yourself in the mirror) and you shirt riding up over—wow, fantastic, riding up over your fucking stomach. You try to discreetly shove it back down to cover yourself, but nope, why would you expect anything to go right for you, with Cronus touching you and shifting against you like this, the moment you get your shirt back in place you can feel it start to slip back up your thorax.

                At least Cronus doesn’t notice you being quietly mortified. Wow, great, that makes at least once that you _didn’t_ get the worst possible outcome. Fucking wonderful, let’s see how long it takes paradox space to fuck that up for you. One of his hands finally slips under the waistband of your underwear, and god, _shit_ , out of nowhere you’re suddenly right on the verge of panic. You—shit. Your bulge isn’t out, you aren’t wet at all, you don’t— _Fuck._ Okay. You’re not. Sure you actually want. Sex.

                Which is just fucking great, way to go, let’s not decide you’re not interested in sex until your… matesprit? (god, fuck, you need to _shut up_ , look at you jumping the gun). Point is, how the hell do you even wait until he has his hand down your pants before you stop to consider whether that’s what you really want? And oh, wonderful, while you’re busy being frozen and useless like the frozen, useless asshole you are, Cronus has slipped his hand into your boxers and is palming between your legs.

                You can’t help trying to twist away. It’s not—it doesn’t feel _bad,_ not exactly, but it’s not right and it’s too much and you’re suddenly aware of just how out of your depth you are all over again. Cronus’s fingers are right against your nook, the heel of his hand is rubbing against your sheath, and before you can stop yourself, you choke out, “ _Wait—_ “

                He pulls his hand back right away, thank fuck. He just rests it on top of your stomach, which okay, not ideal, but it’s _better_. Is the point. He pulls away from your throat, and ahh—you shiver at the feeling of his breath against the wet skin, and clutch at his hand. His voice is hoarse when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

                You have to swallow hard before you can manage any words, and even then it doesn’t come out very coherent. “Just. Too soon—“

                He laughs, “Yeah, bit of a slow starter, huh?” Thank fuck. You weren’t worried that he was going to just… ignore you or something, but it’s good to have that reassurance. You smile up at him, and he grins as he tugs you up close to his thorax and rolls his hips against yours. “Can’t say the same myself.”

                Oh. _Oh_ , fuck fuck fuck, that’s his bulge, you can feel it against your ass through two pairs of pants, and your pan just. Whites out. Cronus moves one hand to tilt your head up for him again, but his other hand starts sliding up your thigh towards your nook, and just. No, _no_ , that’s not what you meant, _shit_ —You thrash a little, try to turn to face him, accidentally end up elbowing him in the thorax, _fuck_ ), but after some awkward flailing you end up turned around far enough to at least look him in the eye. With your legs pressed firmly together.

                Cronus has both his hands lifted in surrender, but he’s still smiling at you, he isn’t upset, it’s, it’s okay. “Easy, chief, easy! What’s the fuss?”

                You swallow hard. “I, I, I’m not. _Ready_ for that.”

                His hands fall a little, and the smile just fades off his face. “So then, what is this? Is this like what you were doin’ to me the last time?”

                “N—no!”

                Cronus leans back against the back of the seating platform, and you’re suddenly aware of all the places where you’d been pressed against him. Where he isn’t holding you against him now. “Because it sure fuckin’ feels like it is. How am I supposed to take this, huh? Second time in a row you’ve done this. Leadin’ me on is what it is. Give me one set a’ signals, then when I act on them you backpedal like ‘oh, I never wanted you to do that, how dare you.’ Fucks a guy right up, bein’ treated like that.”

                You—hadn’t realized. You _hadn’t_. You manage, “I did that?”

                “Well, _yeah_ ,” he snaps, and stops. Rubs his eyes. “Look, maybe you’re not doin’ it on purpose or nothin’. But this is a _problem_. It’s the same as the toxic bullshit I’ve been tryin’ to help you with, y’know? But take a look at this from my point a’ view. I’m doin’ my thing here, you seem happy, you’re given me some _real clear signals_. An’ then at some point you decide that you’re gonna take it all back, an’ suddenly I’m the bad guy for just doin’ the thing you pretty much told me to do.”

                You blurt, “I didn’t mean to—“

                He sighs and flaps a hand at you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you didn’t think about it that way. But it’s still what you’re doin’ to me, and it’s the second fuckin’ time. There’s only so much a guy can take.”

                “I’m. I’m sorry.”

                “Okay? Doesn’t do me much good now though, does it? You’ve been here, all makin’ me feel like we’ve got somethin’ special. Gettin’ me all fired up until you turn the tables on me an’ play martyr. I’m not… I’m not mad, promise. But you seriously can’t fuckin’ keep doin’ that.”

                “You thought we had something special?”

                He smiles crookedly. “Well, yeah, shit. Unless I’m the only one feelin’ it—Don’t tell me if that’s the case, there’s only so much bruising a guy’s ego can take in one night.” You can’t help a little return smile. One of his hands comes back to rest on your leg. “For serious, though. You’re drivin’ me crazy, just bein’ in the same room, never mind when you start playin’ games. If that’s all you wanted from me, it ain’t nice to stick around just bein’ a tease.”

                …oh. Yeah, that… makes sense. It’s only fair, right? And if you’re both going to be on the same wavelength, it only makes sense for you to _act_ like it, for fuck’s sake, he literally just finished telling you that if you don’t want to go any further it isn’t nice to stay and. Be a tease. And even if you didn’t mean to tease, you’re still pretty appalled with yourself for trying to manipulate him, it’s almost. _Exciting_. Thinking of yourself as someone who could _be_ a tease. Being a tease means that… you know. People have to _want you_. Just the thought almost makes you smile. So okay, you got kissed and all, maybe that’s a fluke, whatever. But Cronus is here and talking about how he wants you.

                And the thought of going back to your room, back to the meteor to sit all alone for nights and nights and just drag yourself out for food, it feels like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water all over you. It has to happen eventually. You know that. Really. But you don’t want it to happen yet, you want so badly to have this for as long as you possibly can, you can’t let it end on a sour note like this. Cronus is still watching you, every time you shift his eyes are on you, his hand is still resting on your lap, and it’s such a thrill to realize over and over again that you are _wanted_.

                So you reach up and put your arms around him and bury your face in the side of his neck. “Just go… slowly. Okay?”

                “Yeah, chief.” You can hear the smile in his voice and press yourself closer against him. “A’ course.”

                He does pry you away, but it’s just so he can tilt your head up and kiss you again. He’s so much larger than you are, but it’s almost soothing, like you’re being wrapped in a big, chilly seadweller blanket. You’re basically hanging off his neck, but it doesn’t even shift him at all. When you push off the seating platform with your foot to stretch further up towards him, you can feel him smile, and he holds you even tighter against his thorax, and you just shut your eyes and relax into him.

                At this point, kissing is nice and familiar. You’re on solid ground. Mostly. The point is, you’re not embarrassing yourself too badly, and you’re keeping up well enough that you’re wondering if there’s anything else you should be doing to show Cronus, you know. How much you appreciate this. Him. Oh god, that sounds so stupidly corny, whatever, the _point is_. Before, he’d been doing things with his hands, and you were just sitting there like a dead finbeast. Must have been real attractive, you’re sure. You’ve already fucked up enough for one night, you need to get your act together.

                So you untangle your arms from around his neck and move your hands to his fins. You’re hoping your shitty romcoms got at least _one_ thing right. You carefully, _gently,_ press your thumbs along the webs of his fins. He makes a pleased noise against your mouth, so you try it again, a little harder.

                You can feel his bulge twist against your ass, and Cronus breaks away just long enough to gasp, ”Yeah, Karkat, _fuck—_ “ before bending back in and kissing you so hard that for a minute you can’t pull away to breathe.

                His bulge coils against you again. You don’t think that ever _stopped_ being a thing, but for a few minutes there you’d forgotten about it. But now, you can’t stop _noticing_ it. Every time you shift, it presses against you in new, interesting ways, and even with two layers of clothing in the way, certain parts of your anatomy are beginning to sit up and take notice.

                You don’t want to move your hands from Cronus’s fins, not with all the noises you’re managing to coax out of him. You feel _powerful,_ you feel like you actually matter here, like you’re equal partners, you’re not just some random asshole who’s overwhelmed and out of his depth and too stupid to know better. When you take the webs of his fins and rub them between your fingers, he gasps against your mouth, and for the first time you start to think that maybe you can actually handle this.

                That’s when his fronds go up your shirt. You’re too shocked to do anything for a moment, but then his hand is on one of your rumblespheres, and before you know it, he’s found your pleasure nub and is rolling it between his fingers. You’re breathless for a moment, and then you thrash, though you don’t know if you’re trying to get away— it’s so sudden and intense you can hardly stand it—or press closer into his hands because you want _more_.

                He laughs breathlessly. “Heh, chief, no holster? ‘s like you came dressed like this just for me, _fuck—_ “

                He tries to kiss you, but his mouth glances off yours and he bends to your neck instead. But you aren’t really in a position to enjoy it, you’re too busy being breathless and humiliated, because, because you don’t need rumblesphere holsters, they’ve always been too small to worry about that— Even now, they aren’t _that_ large, are they? But you look down now with your shirt riding up over your spheres, and all you see is rolls, rumblespheres, stomach, _more_ fucking stomach, you can’t even see the waistband of your boxers like this, you don’t want to take off your pants, you want to put your clothes on, put even _more_ clothes on, twenty fucking layers of clothes—Fuck. _Fuck_.

                At least Cronus can’t see your face like this. It’s the little things that make life worth living. Ha. His face is still buried in your neck, and, and this night isn’t a total loss, okay. He’s seen just as much of your body as you have and he’s still here. You wish you could just. Forget all the little things he keeps saying, but like _hell_ are you going to bring them up yourself. Wow, yeah, let’s have a conversation about everything you hate about yourself, not like that will take the rest of the night or anything.

                But it’s okay. It’s _okay._ You can still do this. You don’t want to have to leave. You just—If you can get a little space, maybe you can shove your shirt back down over your stomach. However. Trying to wriggle enough to do that has the unexpected side effect of grinding your ass down against Cronus’s bulge. Fuck. _Not_ what you were trying to do, you’re trying to move _slowly_ here, goddammit, but when you hear the way Cronus moans against your neck you have a hard time feeling sorry about it.

                You shift one more time, experimentally (also because if you distract him enough, maybe you can push your shirt back down while he isn't paying attention). But he surges up beneath you, tipping you out of his lap and onto your back on the seating platform, propping himself up above you.

                You’re frozen for a long moment, because holy shit, what. Cronus’s cheeks are flushed violet, he’s looking at you like you’re worth having, and it’s just like one of the scenes in one of those amazing romantic movies where the tension builds up over _hours_ until it finally breaks and the film tastefully cuts to black. But this is real life, there aren’t cuts, you’re here with your pants undone and your rumblespheres hanging out, and you can see the shape of Cronus’s bulge through his pants.

                He reaches for your boxers, and before you can stop yourself, you choke out, “ _Wait—_ ”

                His face falls, and he starts to pull back to sit on his heels. His voice is full of disappointment when he says, “Again? Really?”

                Fuck, _fuck,_ that isn’t—you’re not trying to, you swear, you want to make this work, you aren’t trying to use him, and you just keep _doing it_. One slow, deep breath, and you manage. “Just not. _Yet_.”

                And, oh. That does it. He smiles for you, he bends down to give you a quick peck, and says, “Then what’s the plan?”

                Ahaha, shit, you freeze again. Fuck past you for not thinking ahead, or getting a little goddamn _experience_ , or doing basically any of the many, many things that could have made this a less awkward experience for present you. “I don’t know.”

                It’s fine though, everything is still fine, because Cronus smiles even wider and says, “Got a plan if you’re up for it. Easy as anything. Won’t need me to get in your pants at all.” He must catch the skepticism on your face because he laughs and adds, “Doesn’t need your mouth either! Promise, chief, easiest thing you ever did.”

                You should be grateful—you _are_ grateful that he’s being so patient with you, even though you basically can’t stop being a difficult asshole for even two minutes at a time. But he’s edging around this whatever-it-is enough that you’re still plenty suspicious. “So what, my hands?”

                He shakes his head, then pauses. “Well kinda. But better! Here, lemme show you.” He takes your hands, puts one on each of your rumblespheres, and presses them together. He beams down at you. “Just like that, yeah?”

                It takes your pan a moment to catch up, but. Oh. _Fuck_. You have a knot in your throat and you can’t speak around it. He doesn’t know, it’s not his fault, but hahaaa, _shit_ , you were just trying to cover your spheres up. You don’t want them to take center stage, you fucking cannot _deal_ , but how many times can you keep throwing a tantrum and saying no before Cronus finally gets sick of your bullshit?

                But something must show through on your face, because Cronus pauses and asks, “Hey, chief. Karkat. _Hey._ What’s the problem?”

                Slow breath, okay, you are calm, you are perfectly _calm_. “I don’t—“ Another breath. “I don’t like them. Is all.”

                “Your rumblespheres?” You nod. “Aw, hey, don’t be all hard on yourself like that. Didn’t have anything like that the last time around, right?”

                “No.” Yes thank you that is the point you would like people to stop paying attention to your pathetic husk of a body now.

                Cronus smiles for you again. “Ah, damn, we’re really not on the same page, then. You’ve been sittin’ there bein’ all torn up over your rumblespheres? I’ve been sittin’ here thinkin’ that hey, you mighta really let yourself go, but at least there’s one upside!”

                You. Don’t even know what to say. You’re reeling. You don’t know how you’re supposed to react. Okay, no, you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to take the compliment and feel better about yourself, but you, you don’t feel better, you feel fucking _miserable_ , what are you—How are you going to answer that, you’re supposed to be happy Cronus likes your rumblespheres, but it’s taking all your effort now not to cry.

                Cronus’s voice softens. “Hey now. Let’s just give it a try, yeah?” He runs a hand over your rumblespheres, stopping to pinch a pleasure nub along the way. Despite yourself, you shift under him. “Just let me put my bulge here, see if you feel any better about it?”

                You can’t keep saying no if you want to make this work. You just. Fucking can’t. So you force a smile onto your face and say, “Sure.”

                The look on Cronus’s face is basically the best reward you could have hoped for. As long as you don’t. Look at yourself. As long as you’re watching him, you can feel like you’re something special. Desirable. Cronus goes right for the zipper of his pants, and pulls them down just far enough for his bulge to curl out into the air. He sighs in relief, and while he’s looking at you, he lets his mouth quirk into a smile and runs his fingers along his bulge, base to tip. It twists against his hand and his fingers come away stained purple.

                He starts to reposition himself over you and you’ve got this, you are calm, you are in control. You totally are. Ha. He’s just about to slide his bulge between your rumblespheres when you say, “Hold on—”

                Oh god. He doesn’t just look disappointed this time, he looks _angry_ , shit, you fucked it up, you’re the worst— “Really,” he says. “How many times you think I’m gonna just sit here an’ take it while you do this to me?”

                “No—No, that’s not what I meant.” You shut your eyes so you don’t have to look at his face. “I mean—The seating platform. We’re going to wreck it. If we do it here. On the seating platform.”

                “Oh.” He laughs, and you open your eyes and look up at him. He’s grinning, and you manage a shaky smile. “Right, ha, thought you were havin’ another go at me. Shoulda known you weren’t the kind a’ person to do that do a guy, my mistake.” He bends down to you again, just one quick kiss before he moves from over you, stands on the floor next to the seating platform and stretches.

                He offers you a hand off the seating platform, and when you take it, he tugs you right up to your feet. When you’re standing there with him, you can see the difference in size between you the way you never could when you were sitting together. God, even after your molt, you barely come up to his thoracic cage. But you only have a moment to take that in before he’s tugging your shirt up and over your head and then you don’t actually _care_ about height differences, because you’re cold and exposed and Cronus is looking at you and you’re fighting the urge to cover yourself.

                He starts to reach for your pants too, but you take a step backward. He looks at you almost like he’s starting to get upset again, so you smile and just say, “Later. Promise.” He rewards you with another smile before he starts stripping out of his own clothing.

                Cronus is, um. Nice to look at. _Really_ nice to look at. You don’t think most people would argue with that. He’s lean and muscular the way Eridan always was, but. Just. You could look at him for a long, long time, that’s all you’re saying. And he’s looking at _you_ like you’re worth looking at, which isn’t really something you were expecting.

                He’s so much taller than you that you aren’t really able to kiss him well standing up, so you let him ease you down to your knees. And from there it’s just a small step for him to press you onto your back on the wooden floor. You just try to breathe. You can do this. This doesn’t need to be some kind of huge issue, if you can only manage to _not_ throw a tantrum over nothing, you’ll be fine.

                You’re lying there waiting for him to just. To just do it. But he kneels down beside you and pauses. “Now. I know we talked about this before, but I’ve gotta be sure. You’re okay with this?”

                Your throat won’t quite work, but you nod.

                “Tell me out loud? For real? Exactly what it is you want me to do?” He smiles sheepishly. “Not tryin’ to be an ass about this. I swear. I just wanna be positive I’m doin’ something’ you want.”

                _Oh_. Okay. So. It takes a few tries before you can manage the words. Cronus is watching you expectantly. You can’t screw this up. “I want you to fuck my rumblespheres.” It seems so insufficient. You add, stupid and pathetic, “I do. Really.”

                Cronus makes a pleased little noise, and takes your hands and puts them back on your rumblespheres. “You just keep those together nice an’ tight. Promise this’ll feel so good, you have no idea, rememberin’ this is gonna keep me warm on cold nights.” He winks at you, and you almost kind of smile. He moves to straddle you again, and for one awful moment you’re worried he’s basically going to be sitting on your stomach, because yes, wow, thanks, you didn’t feel bad enough about that already. Once he’s settled across your thoracic cage, he strokes his bulge a few times, and sets it free to curl between your rumblespheres.

                You’re ashamed to admit it, but the biggest thing you can focus on is how _awkward_ this is. Cronus is practically on top of your aeration sacs, you can technically breathe, but it always feels like he’s going to shift wrong and suffocate you. He’s braced against the floor with a hand on either side of your head, working his hips against you, and it should be sexy seeing the way his bulge twists in between your rumblespheres, the way the tip of it pokes out at the top. You should be able to enjoy how hot Cronus apparently finds this.

                Spoilers, you don’t like this. At all. Instead of enjoying the feeling of his bulge against, you, it’s wet and chilly, and you were already cold without your shirt. The only place he’s touching you is his legs around your thoracic cage, which isn’t warm, you just feel like you can’t move. And every time he moves his hips, it slides you against the wooden floor. The hard wooden floor. It’s uncomfortable now, it was uncomfortable from the _start_ , You don’t like anything about this, Cronus can’t even kiss you or hold you this way, and you’re trying hard, really you are, but you can’t find a single thing about this that you actually _enjoy_.

                It’s not like in the movies—Which is such an idiotic thought to even have, those movies are fake and stupid and you’re even more stupid for thinking that was some kind of ideal you could ever hope to achieve in real life. But it’s so hard to stop thinking about a warm, soft concupiscent platform, quiet and intimate, and the two of you coming into the block, quiet and nervous, holding hands and laughing together, everything magical and perfect and—And you need to _stop_. You’ve already done more than enough to ruin your life with your fixation on this bullshit. It’s just. Hard.

                Honestly, you’re wondering whether this is actually even doing anything for Cronus. You’re having trouble seeing how this could do it for _anybody_. You’re left just awkwardly holding your rumblespheres together (you just want to put your shirt back _on_ ) and trying to ignore the way your back sticks to the floor. But Cronus is keeping up a constant stream of ‘yeah, fuck, chief, Karkat, you feel so fuckin’ _good_ ,’ so you keep it together. For him, at least. Even if you’re going to be a whiny wriggler, for fuck’s sake, you can at least manage not to ruin things for everyone.

                There’s no warning when Cronus comes. Or maybe there is and you were just busy being too self-absorbed to notice, but suddenly he jams his hips into your rumblespheres so hard it almost hurts, and you are fucking. _Soaked_. In genetic material.

                It’s cold. Is the first thing you notice. Probably because it’s really fucking cold. Also sticky. Also _everywhere_. It’s all over your rumblespheres, you think you can even feel it on you up to your neck (it’s almost definitely on your face, but it’s okay, you’re in denial). There’s a puddle of it in the middle of your thorax, you can feel that the waistband of your pants is soaked. You have no clue where to put your hands. Everything is disgusting and sticky.

                Cronus moves from where he’s straddling your thorax. Which. Helps. It definitely helps. But then he just looks down at you and chuckles, and you’re basically in shock here, this is quite possibly the grossest thing that has ever happened to you. But he bends to kiss you anyways, and that also helps. It’s something to focus on that _isn’t_ the fact that approximately ninety percent of your body is covered with cold, sticky genetic material.

                And after he kisses you, he reaches out and snags a shirt and hands it to you with a wink. “Might want to wipe down there. Got a little somethin’ on you.” You can’t quite laugh, but you appreciate it. And it’s his shirt, even. which gives you a little twinge of guilt for being so upset over this when, for fuck’s sake, you knew what you were signing up for. You told him you _wanted_ him to do it.

                The shirt is soaked before you’re clean. But it’s _better_ is the important thing to focus on here. And after you’re something approaching dry—and you move the fuck _away_ from the wet spot—you reach out for Cronus and he reaches back to you without a moment of hesitation.

                You just stick to kissing him for a few minutes. It’s easy, lazy, comfortable, you know what the hell you’re doing, it’s a winning strategy all around. You feel much better with him just _holding_ you like this. You’re actually pretty embarrassed you were so worked up before. You said yes, you agreed to this, at least you managed to _not_ actually pitch a fit and ruin everything. You’re managing this. You’re doing okay.

                Or rather, you’re doing okay until the kisses to from soft and slow to hard and demanding. You don’t know when it changes, you _don’t_ , you’re not trying to do anything, you’d be happy if it was nothing but lazy kisses for the rest of the night. But it does shift, and you’re still frantically trying to figure out whether you’re allowed to say no to this when Cronus puts his hand between your legs.

                You flinch. You didn’t mean to do that, _shit_ , this is exactly the kind of thing he’s already gotten upset at you for. Multiple times, fuck. You aren’t trying to be such an asshole, you really aren’t, and you don’t even have to look at his face to know you screwed up again.

                But yes, wow, let’s be a fucking coward and not acknowledge that you just fucked up. Maybe even try to fix this. Ahaha. You say, “Here, I’ll—Let me get that for you.”

                You can’t force yourself to look at Cronus until you’ve finished slipping off your boxers. You arrange your shoes, socks, pants, and underwear in a neat little pile beside the seating platform. You aren’t putting off looking at him, what? But when you do nerve yourself into meeting his eyes, he’s smiling, and you feel such a rush of relief that you don’t even mind that you’re completely fucking naked.

                And when he kisses you again, this time you’re braced for him to reach down between your legs. You aren’t unsheathed yet. You aren’t even close, really. That isn’t—You don’t have to have that, it would be okay if things ended here, if he just wanted to sit with you and talk until the meteor pulls away from the dream bubble. You’d be fine with that. But even though he already came, his bulge is twisting between his legs. And when his fingers brush across your sheath and your bulge is nowhere to be found, you shut your eyes so you don’t have to see his expression.

                He clears his throat. “So.”

                You force out. “I’m sorry.”

                “All those things I fuckin’ _tried_ to tell you about takin’ advantage of me.”

                “No!” It comes out of you all at once, with you stumbling over half the words. “No, I promise, it wasn’t that, I, I never meant to—“

                “Oh? An’ what am I supposed to think, after I’ve been tryin’ to be all sweet with you an’ it’s like I might as well never have bothered?”

                You shiver. You fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up, what are you supposed to do to make this better? Cronus is watching you, with his eyes flat and his lips pressed tight together. He’s waiting for you to do something, but what are you supposed to _say?_

                He prompts, “So what _am_ I supposed to think? You just been usin’ me this whole time?”

                “ _No—_ I want this. I want you, and, and. This. I do.” Fuck. Your voice sounds like you’re about to cry. Probably because you’re about to cry. _Fuck_.

                He sits back and he folds his arms and he doesn’t believe you and you want to die. He doesn’t say anything for a few long moments, and then just, “Prove it.”

                You don’t understand at first. Even once you have a guess at what he means, you’re not _really_ sure you understand. But you’re afraid to ask how, you’ve already made enough mistakes, you can’t believe he’s giving you yet another chance and you can’t afford to fuck this up too. You sit back against the seating platform, take a deep breath, and spread your legs.

                Surprise, surprise, stress does jack fucking shit to help you get turned on. When you run your fingers over your sheath, you’re barely dilated at all, and your nook is so dry you’re not sure you’d be able to even work a finger in. God, no wonder he’s upset, how is he supposed to think you really want this? But you can’t ruin this right now, you’ll die if he makes you go, how are you supposed to go back to the meteor for god knows how many more perigees alone with a taste of intimacy and, and romance, and the memory that you’re such a colossal failure you managed to ruin it all in less than a night.

                You rest the heel of your hand against your sheath and grind it down. This shouldn’t be so _hard_. Hasn’t Cronus done enough for you? You should be feeling _something_ by now, god, what the fuck is wrong with you. You close your eyes and let your head fall back against the seating platform, and try to remember what it felt like when you were in his lap and kissing him. You had wanted him, when he had his arms around you like that. And even when you were being difficult, when he kept you there and kept touching you—You remember grinding down against his bulge and feeling powerful, and knowing that _you_ did that to him.

                Ffff, _ahh_ , that does it. You can feel your sheath twitch, and the tip of your bulge starts to nudge at your palm. You’re so relieved you could basically just cry. You rub your hand over your bulge, try to focus on the slide and friction and imagine Cronus touching you the same way—which he tried, for fuck’s sake, he’s tried twice already, and you derailed things both times, what the hell is your _problem_.

                And then something pushes your legs further apart, and your eyes fly open, and Cronus is right there, with his eyes fixed between your legs. Which is good, because he can’t see the way your cheeks are _burning_ , holy shit, never mind romance, this is by far the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to you. You grind your palm against your unsheathing bulge again, and think about him, watching you touch yourself thinking about him, and hahhhh, _fuck—_

“Hold on,” he says.

                It takes you a moment to process, but then, oh, shit, what did you do wrong this time? You’re trying to hard to make this right, there’s going to be some point where he runs out of patience with your bullshit, why can’t you keep up? “What’s wrong?”

                But he’s smiling, it’s, it’s okay, he just reaches out to take your wrist and move it to the side. “Nothin’ _wrong_ , chief.” He grins even wider. “I just want a better view.”

                Oh. _Oh_. You thought your cheeks were burning before, never mind, you have _entirely new context_ for blushing hard, you’re so embarrassed (and thrilled) that your head swims. You stroke your bulge like this, so he can see (so he can _see!_ ). Just your fingers, sheath to tip. You’re only half unsheathed, but doing it like this, with his eyes right _on you_ , you shiver just thinking about it, and the rest of your bulge slides out all at once.

                Cronus makes a pleased little noise and reaches for, for _his_ bulge, and oh god, this is so far beyond anything you would have ever imagined happening to you, how are you supposed to deal with this? He looks at you like he wants you, and you like you _matter_. When you slip a finger into your nook, it slides in easily, warm and soft. It sends a jolt up through you, you can’t believe you pushed him away twice already, you want him here, with you. You do.

                He edges closer when touch your nook, breaths, “ _Fuck,”_ and takes his bulge in his hand. For one petrifying moment you think he’s about to put it in you, and barely choke back a ‘ _no_ ,’ but he just lets it coil around his fingers, squeezing at him, dripping violet genetic material.

                And okay. You do feel good like this. Really you do. _Really_. But with Cronus kneeling over you and with his bulge right there, you can’t ignore how much larger than you he is. It’s nobody’s fault that you’re so stupidly short, and you want to make this work so, so badly—But you’re terrified at what something that size is going to _do_ to you.

                You’ve owned some shame sticks in the past, because who hasn’t, but none of those even came close to this. It was different when it was up in between your rumblespheres, that might not have been your favorite, but seeing it right there, right next to your nook—It’s going to tear you, his bulge is the size of your _forearm_ , you can’t take it, you can’t, you can’t—

                You freeze up, because you’ve been a useless asshole so consistently, why stop now, and Cronus looks sharply up at your face. “What’s the problem, chief?”

                You aren’t going to say no, you really, really aren’t, you don’t want to just use him, you want to make him happy— “I just. Are you sure it’s going to—“ You swallow hard. “Fit?”

                Cronus sighs, and he, he just sounds so tired of your bullshit, and you can see him holding himself back from being angry. “Really? Again?”

Fuck. _Fuck_. You want to just curl up and die. Your voice cracks on, “No— I just—“

                “You just? You just wanted to use me? You just wanted to make me feel like shit? Because that’s what I’m hearin’ over here?”

                “No! I, I promise. I want this, and, and you. Only—“ You can’t look at him. You shut your eyes and curl forward around yourself. You’re being such a wriggler about this, how can he even stand to have you around? Your voice is pathetic, barely louder than a whisper. “Will it hurt?”

                “Aw, chief, Karkat—“ He slips close enough to put an arm around your shoulders. His bulge twists against the back of your thigh, and it’s so close to your nook, you have to stop yourself from trying to edge away. “Ain’t gonna be a problem. Nooks stretch, y’know? They’re built to take a bulge, it’ll fit just fine, no trouble. You had me worried there, thought you were tryin’ to pull more a’ that shit from earlier.”

                It takes a moment to remember how to work your arms, but you wrap them against his thorax and hold him close. You wouldn’t mind stopping now, you really wouldn’t—Or maybe you could figure out how to use your mouth on him, or maybe he’d want to use your rumblespheres again. But he wants this, he’s wanted this from the start, he never tried to make you believe anything else, you can’t keep _doing_ this to him.

                After a moment, Cronus pulls back, and you reluctantly let him go. “Now, Karkat, need you to work with me here. I want this. I mean, damn, just look at you.” His eyes sweep up and down your body, and ahaha. Wow. Your bloodpusher is pounding. With him looking at you like this you… almost feel okay about sitting here so exposed. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “But I need you to be real clear about what you want from me here.”

                You don’t want this. You really don’t. But he wants it, and you want to make him happy so, so badly, and you’re just being a wriggler about it— He told you it wouldn’t hurt, why are you being so difficult about this? You manage a smile. “I. I want you to fill me.”

               His hand tightens on your shoulder, and he breathes, “ _Damn_.” Then he bends in to kiss you hard and deep. When you rub your fingers along his fins, he moans against your mouth.

                He breaks away, and grins down at you, breathing ragged with his cheeks all violet. He says, “I think this’ll be easiest with you on your back, yeah?” He winks and nudges your stomach, “Probably easier than havin’ you on top.”

                The breath is knocked right the fuck out of you for a moment, and your cheeks burn with humiliation. Cronus doesn’t seem to notice as he turns you, and eases you onto your back on the floor. You can’t— You have to get yourself back under control. This wasn’t, it didn’t mean anything, not like that—He didn’t mean it like that, you’re just being. Oversensitive. Fuck fuck fuck, everything is about _you_ , isn’t it, even when it’s just the plain truth. You just need to. Calm down.

                Ahaha, right, calming down, that is definitely what you’re doing as Cronus settles between your legs. You can do this, he promised it would be okay, your body is literally built to handle this, just think it through logically— And then the tip of his bulge is nudging at your nook, and logic goes right the fuck out the window. The first few inches go in without any trouble. But when you prop yourself up on your elbows to, to see past your stomach, there’s still so much more bulge to go.

                You can feel it when your nook starts to hit its limit. You’ve. Never really done much with your nook, it’s, it’s _stupid_ , okay, but you wanted to save yourself. For your partners. You wanted it to be special. All your shame sticks were small little things, much thinner than your bulge. It’s so stupid and idealistic and _stupid_ , but you wanted the _romance_ of feeling your partner filling you up for the first time. You. Spent a lot of time thinking about the idea of letting your matesprit see you like this, at your most vulnerable, trusting them to take care of you. Or your kismesis, throwing yourself at them and pushing yourself to the limit, challenging them to keep up, not giving them an inch even when they have you spread wide around their bulge— The point is those fantasies are the kind of naïve idiocy a sheltered little wriggler comes up with. But you can’t stop _thinking_ about them.

                And they aren’t like this, none of it was like this. You never would have thought of the awful itching sensation around the edges of your nook, the constant knot of terror in your digestive sac, because oh god oh god he’s going to tear you, and what will you do, who can even help you if he tears you up inside? You can feel the tip of his bulge twisting around inside you, and how much deeper will it go, it feels like it’s already tangling up with your guts, you can’t stand to look at him to see how much is even left to fit into you—

                You don’t even realize your bulge is retracting until Cronus reaches out and takes it in hand. His thumb brushes across the sensitive tip, and you can’t help crying out. He grins down at you. “Gettin’ distracted? This guy was startin’ to beat a retreat.”

                You think you manage to mumble something like an apology. Cronus shrugs. “Thought you’d be a little more focused on what’s happening, but s’fine.” He drags his thumb across the tip again, and you thrash, and shudder when that makes his bulge coil and resettle inside you. “Here though, you take care a’ this for a minute. I think we need a change of angle.”

                He takes your limp, unresisting hand, and wraps it around your bulge. Then he takes both your legs and ahh, ahh, _fuck_ , he lifts them up so they’re braced on his shoulders, and he rolls his hips against you. You can feel another length of bulge brute-force its way into you, and fuck, _god_ , there’s so much bulge inside you that the tip of it presses painfully against your seedflap before it twists and doubles back on itself, and Cronus’s weight is resting on your legs so you’re almost bent double, and you can’t _breathe—_

                Cronus pushes far enough that he can kiss you, it compresses your thorax so hard you think you might actually suffocate, but it’s just one kiss, and then he pulls back to where he was before, just leaning into your thighs, and it’s, it’s better, it’s okay, it really is—His hips are flush with yours, and you could almost cry from relief that that’s all, you took it, it’s _over_. The way the rim of your nook itches every time he shifts almost makes you want to be sick, but no, you did it, you did what he wanted you to, you aren’t going to ruin things now, what the fuck is wrong with you?

                He puts his hand back on your bulge, wraps his fingers around it and strokes it from base to tip. You can feel his fingers catching on the ridges, fuck, you can see the way your genetic material drips over his fingers (you can feel the way his material drips out of your nook and down your ass), and it’s. Much better. Focusing on that. Instead of the way you’re stretched out too wide around his bulge, the way you can still feel it coiling and twisting inside you.

                Cronus grins and laughs breathlessly. “You like that?” He squeezes your bulge hard, and nhhhh, _fuck_ , his bulge has you spread so wide you can’t believe you aren’t bleeding, but you can still feel the muscles in your nook flutter as they try desperately to tighten around him.

                He squeezes again and again, until you’re thrashing and crying out, you’re too far gone to manage words, and he’s making little noises every time you clench around him, but you, you can’t focus enough to appreciate them. His bulge is lashing inside you, as best as it can, grinding against your walls, pressing against your seedflap, it’s _too much_ , it’s too much, you want more and you want it to stop and you can’t pull yourself together enough to manage any words—And finally your body just throws up its hands and calls it a day.

                You can feel yourself coming. You can _see_ it. Your genetic material spills from your bulge all over Cronus’s hand, down your stomach and thighs, but it doesn’t feel like it’s yours. You’re watching it happen, but your head is spinning, and you can’t make yourself actually believe that your body belongs to you, it feels like you’re watching someone else come, all detached and distant. And when Cronus groans, grinds his hips against yours, and floods your nook, you can feel the pain of being filled past what you can handle. But that’s not your nook, it’s someone else’s, if it was yours you’d know of course. You can feel it, but it doesn’t belong to you.

                All you can do is shut your eyes, let your head fall back against the floor, and try to breathe. Cronus bends down to kiss you. It’s all you can do to move with him, you don’t remember how your body works, you don’t remember words, though between kisses Cronus is whispering things like, “Fucking perfect,” and, “So good, chief, so fuckin’ good.” After a few false starts, you manage to wrap your arms around him, and you bury your face in his neck and try not to cry.

                You get to indulge yourself like that for a few minutes before he pulls away. It’s good. You don’t feel like you’re about to suffocate, your limbs feel like they’re actually attached to you, you’re pathetically grateful he just lets you cling while you try to pull yourself back together. Once he breaks away and stands, you just sit where you are, dazed and lost, watching without understanding while he picks up the pile of your clothes and brings them back over. He pulls his pants back on, and you have to cringe a little, remembering that you used his shirt as a towel to wipe genetic material off yourself.

                When you finally get your act together, though, you can see why he’s collecting your clothes. The dream bubble is starting to fade. Not much, and not as fast as some of them, but everything’s gone hazy-soft around the edges, like you’re looking at it through fog. You don’t want to go. You want to stay, and, and you did everything you could to make this good for him, you want to sit here and talk and be held, you don’t want to go back to the meteor. But you pull on your clothes, one piece at a time. Your pants are still damp and clammy at the waistband from Cronus’s genetic material. It’s going to get on your shirt, fuck. _And_ your nook is going to stain your crotch violet, because this could not get any worse—you just hope the dream bubble drops you back on the meteor somewhere near your respiteblock, if you have to walk there from the other side of the lab, you’re going to die.

                After you’re dressed, you can almost kind of meet Cronus’s eyes. He gives you a crooked smile. “Wasn’t _so_ bad, was it?”

                If you ignore the parts where you threw a wriggler tantrum for no reason. You’re glad he’ll at least act like you didn’t spend the evening humiliating yourself over and over. You blurt, “I don’t want to leave—“

                He sighs. “Yeah, me neither. Not much we can do, though.”

                The room is already fuzzier, more distant. Your voice catches when you say, “I want to see you again.”

                He grins. “Well I sure hope so. The feelin’ is mutual, for sure.”

                You swear you can feel your pump biscuit get warmer at that. “Really?”

                “Well, wasn’t a perfect first time or nothin’, but that’s no sin.”

                “I’ll do better next time,” you promise. “I don’t know, I just—Nerves. Or some shit.”

                “That’s what I like to hear,” he laughs. “Just think about me some a’ these mornings?” He looks you slowly up and down, and you can feel your face flood with heat. “I’ll be doin’ the same for sure.”

                “Yeah, I—Yeah.” You reach out for him one more time. The dream bubble is almost gone. You melt into the kiss as easy as anything, and you want it to never end.

                When he pulls back, he says, “Oh, an’ you might want to think about wearin’ turtlenecks for a couple days.”

                You’re, um. Really lost. But Cronus points at his neck, and when you press your fingers to the side of your throat, you can feel the bruises all along it, from just under your ear all the way down to your shoulders. Your face is _burning_ , and a quiet little corner of your pan whispers that it’s like he marked you as _his_. You clear your throat. “Ha. I. Yeah, that could be awkward. If anyone asks.”

                He smiles for you. “Yeah, like this it’s our little secret, huh?”

                Your throat is closing up. The dream bubble is barely here at all anymore. “Our little secret.”

                You aren’t sure if you imagine his lips pressing against yours or not. You shut your eyes and try to relax the kiss for as long as you can pretend it lasts. When you open them again, you have to blink fast for a few moments before you can see clearly. You look around at the familiar, dingy walls of the lab, get your bearings, and begin the long, lonely walk back to your room.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/127410193576/raise-it-up-spockandawe-homestuck-archive-of)


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